The Night The Gate The Never Redacted version
by depresane
Summary: The following fictional story is fanmade. I am not associated with BioWare or Wizards of the Coast. This project can and will be inaccurate in terms of the Faerûn lore. It will spoil the important plot points of Baldur's Gate, the sequel, and Neverwinter Nights. My protagonist's intelligence is a result of my own incompetence as a gamer, not her carnation.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

 **How have we even gotten here?**

Night had fallen gently on the city of Baldur's Gate. Taverns filled up with workers seeking relief in fermented beverage. Merchants prepared keys, ready to close their shops  
and join the drunk crowds. They waited. They knew. There is always that one customer  
who dashes through doorframe at the very last moment.

And indeed, six silhouettes were running in panic, their weapons clashing against their clothes. A lady of the night service pointed to her left, showing them a way to the closest store.

"Our gratitude, sweet woman!," shouted a voice in Common, panting from weariness.

They sprinted towards Lucky Aello's Discount Store with one more act of effort.  
Its owner put his keys away as the door whistled and bashed.

So they entered, one by one, into a dim lit room.

First appeared a slim human woman, skilled with traps, locks, and bows. She fixed her hooded cape, which covered her ginger hair and studded armour. That was Imoen  
of Candlekeep, showing the merchant a sincere grin on her maple wood coloured face.

Next trampled a dwarven beard wearer, wielding a battle axe in one hand and a long rectangular shield in the other. He glanced at a display, already having second thoughts. Being a merchant himself, Kagain of Beregost recognized a scam shop when he saw one.

After him, a human paladin of Helm staggered, eager to take off their chainmail armour  
and plank themselves to sleep. One garment of theirs stood out: a girdle with a red dazzle  
that had hexed its owner and transformed their body. Meant to curse a curious adventurer,  
the belt turned out to bring a blessing. Thus, Ajantis Ilvastarr continued their noble duty  
as Ajantia.

Then, a bright green ankheg armour rang at the doorstep. Its wearer, a human cleric, rested her shield and hammer on the floor. Long haired, prepared for death, yet anxious upon spotting any stone sculpture, was Branwen of Seawolf.

Behind her swaggered an Ilythiiri in leather armour. While Branwen revered many deities, including Tempus, Viconia of house DeVir devoted herself to Shar. She showed expertise in using a mace, healing wounds, and raising skeletons. She was also the one  
who suggested that the party flee from Centeol's spider cave.

Last came a thunder of sheathed short swords carried by an obscured person on their forearms, like a baby they intended to drop onto a fireplace. And indeed, the carrier tripped over a wooden plank and threw the loot at Aello's desk, stomping and regaining their balance. ***

The merchant saw a half-elf woman in purpura coloured Knave's Robe. Her name was Vissenvaib, and Gorion had great hopes for her when she reached maturity in Candlekeep. Unfortunately, Gorion met his death defending her in the woods – as mentors do – leaving her all alone with Imoen as her sole companion. That was when Vissenvaib realized her lifetime knowledge, so praised within Candlekeep walls, meant jack crap when an ogre aims for her head with his club. Relying on her inconsistent wit, she trained herself to induce sleep upon her enemies, produce flames on her palms, and use an improved slingshot. She was also capable of identifying various enchantments on items she found.

She freed Branwen at Nashkel Carnival and asked her to join her party.

She saved Viconia from a prejudiced guard and asked her to join her party.

She found Kagain at his shop and asked him to join her party.

She met Ajantia on her way to Baldur's Gate and asked them to join her party.

Poor, unaware adventurers quickly regretted that decision as Vissenvaib recruited warriors regardless of their moral point of view. She also wanted them all to wear leather armour, and she stood behind them while casting offensive spells. Injured, angered, confused, even more injured, they wondered how she managed to survive without Gorion. That was her mystery and, surprisingly, her charm. ***

Vissenvaib gasped, wiped off sweat with a sleeve, and started gesturing with her hands, which were dark brown with warm undertones.

"Those are all for sale," she explained.

"Splendid! Let me count them," Aello touched first two swords with his fingers,  
then another two, and so on, "Fourteen shorts, one hundred and forty Pieces. Anything else?"

"Um… Folks?," she switched to Chondathan.

"Here's the Traveler's Robe," said Imoen.

"I have a pearl," followed Viconia in Elven.

"Will you use the potion of Firebreath, Vissie?," asked Branwen.

"I don't buy potions," quickly replied Aello, "But I will accept the robes and the pearl."

"Really now?," frowned Kagain, "Then, who provides you with the potions on your display?"

"Only trustworthy distributors, sir."

"Name one."

"I assume your suspicion results from the murkiness of my potions. That's just a natural precipitate."

"Name one distributor," insisted Kagain.

"I can sell them for a low price, even lower than it already is. For example, my potion  
of Healing…"

"Hold on," Vissenvaib interrupted him, having read a price tag, "At other store, one bottle cost ninety five Pieces."

"Are you certain?"

"She's right, _for once_ ," continued Kagain, "Look, swindler, name at least one provider  
or the last thing you sell will be your head."

"Oi, krasnyĭ, no need to be brutal," Vissenvaib turned her head to the dwarf, "We can simply report him to a guard."

"Now, that's a deed of which Helm shall approve," Ajantia voiced their opinion, "Confess now, shopkeeper."

"Seems like my data on prices in competing stores are no longer valid. It's just a matter of readjusting my own prices."

"By Ilmater, are you listening," exhaled Vissenvaib in clear annoyance, "Where do you get those potions from?"

"I promised discretion..."

"That's enough. Imoen, find a Flaming Fist."

"Consider it done." ***

Lucky Aello played oblivious despite a guard entering his shop, "Good evening, sir. Now would you look at this: these customers are prolonging my work, and they haven't even bought anything, yet they are eager to sue me."

"I don't know, I would say they are precautious," answered the Flaming Fist mercenary.

Vissenvaib explained, "I intend to buy a single potion and drink it as you watch, for you will be considered a reliable witness, sir."

"Good luck to you, then. There have been testimonies in the past of cursed scrolls  
that petrified its users."

"Wai', wha'? Then, why is he still allowed to manage a shop?"

"We couldn't confirm the crime for we were summoned _after_ a scroll or potion was used. Every single time until tonight, that is."

"Well, poop. We don't have any scrolls to treat petrification. I can only hope this specific beverage does something else."

"Or, I could drink it in your stead," suggested Ajantia.

" _Or, we could just leave_ ," mumbled Branwen.

"Great idea, the paladin should test the potion on themselves," stated Viconia  
with vicious intentions.

"I don't know, Vicky…," said Vissenvaib, trying to read her face.

"Think about it: if something bad happens to _you_ , the Iron Throne loses a potent enemy."

"And if Ajax dies, _I_ lose a potent friend!"

"You and your dilemmas. Let _me_ have it," Kagain grabbed the murky potion  
from the display, bit its cork off and spat it out, then poured half of the bottle down his throat – all of this before Vissenvaib could react properly. He put the remaining beverage down, exposed a cloth with his injured side by tearing his already damaged armour, and waited. He held down a belch and muffled it with his hand.

"How're ya feeling, pal?," asked Imoen.

"A little funny. As I expected, the swill tastes like unfiltered wine."

"How would you know that?," Vissenvaib's curiosity had to wait, however,  
because the dwarf started glowing aqua blue… ***

A wave of chill hit our heroes. They quickly realized they have been taken away,  
with the part of the floor they stood on, as well as a couple of stone bricks from the wall,  
now lying next to Branwen in no harmony. Aello and the guard were nowhere to be found.

Around them was a forest with no distinctive characteristics that would help them tell it apart from the woods they marched through in the past. Night obscured the view for Ajantia and Branwen; Imoen wore an enchanted ring, so darkness didn't concern her.

Kagain needed a moment to decide what to say.

"Great. First the ice dungeon, now this. What do we do?"

Vissenvaib looked up. "I can see the Double Daggers, I think. If we keep going west, we'll reach the sea."

"And what if the closest sea is to the east?," wondered Ajantia, "We must recognize this place first; then, we can choose a direction."

"We might not even be on Faerûn right now," added Imoen.

"I'd say these trees look very Faerûnish. Do you folks know constellations? I remember only that some of them are visible in winter."

Something growled quietly. Vissenvaib readied her slingshot with dispatch.

"That's… just me," admitted Branwen, "I was really hoping we'd go to tavern and have a steak after the transaction."

"Oh. Now that you said it, I'm also a bit hungry. Let's just walk until we find something that tries to attack us. Then, we'll use those wooden planks to cook it."

"Even if it's a person?," asked Viconia.

"Aaah, maybe not yet. We're not desperate to eat, right?"

"I don't know…," whined Branwen.

"Right, I'll stay with Bran, and you folks discuss the matter of hunting."

"I'm still in possession of those shoes, the speedy ones," started Viconia, "I'll don them if you don't want to use them."

"Should we split or march in one group?," Kagain stroke his temple.

"I suggest we walk in two: you join DeVir, and I accompany Imoen."

Viconia acted surprised upon hearing Ajantia's plan, "And why won't _you_ go  
with the hargluk? Do you distrust him?"

"Well, it's more that I suppose you'd feel more comfortable with Kagain."

Both he and Viconia choked. And no, it wasn't a romantic implication; it was  
a nonverbal "They're actually more ignorant than Vissenvaib, holy crap" message.

"You know what, I choose the rogue. We'll be going now. Trust us not," Viconia left  
the party, pulling Imoen by her bent elbow.

Ajantia broadened their mouth as if they wanted to make an "eek!" sound.

"Paladina, pal. Read a book," sighed Kagain.

"I think they meant that you're both morally ambiguous, so you'd…"

"Whoa, V, you're not helping," he frowned, "Yes, I know what she meant. No, I'm not letting her get away with that without visiting a library. Also, I didn't ask for your input. Ready to go, Ilvastarr?" ***

The dwarf returned with a bear, holding its front legs and dragging it along. The paladin carried two honeycombs. Imoen and Viconia brought two hares and a wolf.

They saw a fireplace as tall as the floor planks were, since Branwen arranged them  
that way. Vissenvaib was playing a tiny drum, relaxing, nodding her head, and overall glowing with joy.

"You know, someone may hear you and sneak up on you," said Imoen.

"So what? We are warriors. We are skilled. They'll just strengthen us. Nothing to worry about," replied the cheerful mage.

"Alright, now the messy part," Kagain sat and started skinning the bear, "How far've you managed to go?"

"Pfffffuh, three miles? Just a guess. Viconia?"

"Perhaps three and a half. By the way, Vissenvaib, you're screwed."

She stopped drumming, "Why?"

"We got a clearer view of the sky, where a few trees had been cut. Imoen spotted  
the Alignment."

"Oh. Which one?"

" _The_ one. The Centaur and the Warrior."

"Right, that one. So?"

"…We're in the North."

"Huh. So, we should go southwest and we'll be fine."

"You realize it'll take weeks."

"Yeah… It's still better than wandering in mines."

"We don't have to walk all the way to Baldur's Gate," said Ajantia, "If we reach the sea, we could get aboard and sail."

"Nnno, I'll feel safer on land."

"Sea is much safer, though. As long as Umberlee cooperates," noted Branwen.

Imoen nodded, "I agree. We should travel by boat when we can."

"Folks! Weren't we supposed to identify this place first?," complained Vissenvaib.

"We just did," replied Viconia, "It's not Anauroch; it's not the Glacier; it's still  
the North."

"It could have been one of those… those places above the Fallen… Stars… Sea… thing," she gestured vividly again, "It could have been a different continent even!"

"It doesn't change the fact we need to go west _as you said yourself, if I remember correctly_."

Vissenvaib stomped repeatedly, " _We're not taking a boat!_ "

"Yes, we are. You've been overruled."

"Vicky, Imoen, you traiiiiitors!" ***

And so the travelers went to sleep; the sleep was pleasant, warm, and deep, except  
for Vissie the half-elf mage, who tucked herself in with cloak and rage.

Yes, they did eat cooked bear meat before sleep. ***

As Vissenvaib was falling asleep, she became a viewer, a witness standing on a crimson stone floor in a corner. Two male human beings and a male half-ogre lied in the remaining three corners of a rectangular chamber; she glanced at them one by one from behind a statue. Then, she gazed at the center of the floor, at the symbol she didn't know. What was it?  
A skull surrounded by… twelve… drops? Of water? Tears? Blood? Wine? The symbol was golden in its entirety, so she couldn't tell; besides, it annoyed her that the drops didn't form  
a perfect circle, and that was enough to weaken her concentration.

Suddenly, the statue that shielded her howled as cracks started to cut its surface.  
The half-elf trotted along the wall, but the second statue was also crumbling, and so was  
the third one… She figured there was no point and just ran towards the center. But!  
Even the mysterious symbol started to fall apart, leaving an abyss beneath. She jumped back, lost balance, and fell on her bottom.

Then she saw him! A massive muscular human, half the height of now broken statues, his eyes glowing yellow, his skin brown but lighter than hers. He had no helmet anymore,  
just metal dust on his head and ears. His gauntlets, vambraces, greaves, and cuishes weighed him down, slightly deforming as if melting, but they produced no heat. His breastplate shattered. But his shriek! Hauntingly horrific! The man couldn't hold his tears.

Vissenvaib grabbed her own legs just to make sure they are fine.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!," the man yelled, "YOU HAVE DEFEATED ME! YOU HAVE MADE IT EASY TO STRIKE A LETHAL WOUND! WHY WON'T YOU KILL ME ALREADY?!"

There was no answer, no laughter, no sign.

Vissenvaib looked around. To her right was a shard of a sword. Maybe she overlooked it; maybe it magically appeared because she needed it. Such are dreams. She didn't have time  
to question her senses; she leaped like a panther, grabbed the shard, stood up, and dashed.

"I'll ruin your scheme, whoever you are," she thought, "I'll free this man, so he can meet Naralis."

One more jump, and she stabbed the tortured man between his ribs.

He smiled, "I thank thee, but it's for naught. It's just a vision."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I don't deserve thy compassion… Ngh!," his face twisted in effort, "I'm  
the one wh…"

He couldn't finish. The floor collapsed under him, and the abyss devoured him. ***

She twitched under her cloak. The dream was over.

Vissenvaib sat up. Ash was glowing, blinking slowly and peacefully, where the fireplace stood bright that evening. She watched it to calm down.

"I remembered Naralis," her thoughts wandered, "I usually refer to Jergal or Myrkul. Because Gorion revered Jergal. I know Naralis only from books. Why would I remember him now? That man's voice… was similar… except it wasn't distorted by magic or helmet. Was it _him_? Was _that_ what he meant? «I'm the one who killed Gorion.» And I tried to help him… He claimed it was a vision. Who sent it, then? Why?"

Too many whos and whys made her hide her head between her knees. ***

At pink dawn, the party started marching west – at least they thought so. Natural obstacles such as exposed roots or long cavities forced the adventurers to slightly change their path again and again.

They walked with few breaks, eating the bear meat as they passed mushrooms and dwarf trees.

Three hours later, Viconia doffed her armour.

"What's wrong?," asked Vissenvaib.

"Sseren…"

"Usstan xuat zhaun nindil…," she spoke back in Drow, "I don't know that word."

"It's warm here."

Later, everyone in the party agreed that it was rather warm in the forest.

"Good thing I still had salt on me; the hares would have been wasted at this temperature," commented Kagain.

Before midday, a storm stroke and rain poured for two hours, but the air felt dry afterwards. The party collected the water falling from tree leaves in their waterskins,  
and continued their walk. ***

Thus, our heroes reached a village with sixteen buildings and crooked, almost sinuous pathways. They passed a house to their left, entered a path, walked between two houses, turned right, passed two more houses and looked around. A statue greeted them,  
and a standalone tower with a rectangular arsenal attached to it winked at them with a light reflected by metal.

Vissenvaib examined a house behind the statue, "Does it look like an inn to you, folks?"

"If anything, this whole place looks like it suffered a massacre and got repopulated  
in haste," said Viconia.

"Um… How can you tell?"

"Listen to people around us. They're speaking Common. Not the Northern Chondathan, not Illuskan, not Commani. Common. Sentences like, «Is our child old enough to go to forest with us?,» in Common. Speaking of children, how many can you see or hear?"

Vissenvaib focused. Her ears moved in various directions. " _Maybe_ nine."

"So, at _least_ seventy people here have no children."

"No underage children, that is. Some of them could be an adult offspring."

"Still."

"Yeah. And the children speak Common, too. That just sucks. So. That house. I'm gonna ask for some directions."

Ajantia stepped forward, "No offense, Vissenvaib, but maybe I should do the talking."

"Full offense, Ship Captain. I can handle asking _one_ question to a stranger." ***

The room they entered was decreased in size with two additional walls, which created  
a separate room. A corridor to their right resulted from that makeover. The space was filled up with a throng of traders. Deep in the distance, a woman with round tip of her nose was measuring ale in a glass mug.

Vissenvaib approached, moving smoothly, "Greetings. We are travelers, and we've suffered an unfortunate loss of our maps. They soaked in rain, so the ink is illegible.  
Where are we?"

"Thundertree, dear lady. We're full here, no beds. Anything to drink?"

"Definitely something strong for our dwarf; he risked his life for justice."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, the justice for our wallets, that is."

"I can offer Fire Wine, Westgate Ruby, or Old One Eye."

" _Shyoo_ ," whistled Kagain, "One of each, please." ***

The party stood, pressing their backs against a wall, sipping and gulping.

Viconia broke the silence, "By. Shar. What have you brought upon us?"

The mage took a careful step away from the Ilythiiri, "So, you know where Thundertree is, I reckon?"

"I happen to have heard about it. And my assumption about the massacre makes sense now, since this village was, indeed, slaughtered in the past by orcs."

"Ah."

"And the warmth… It comes from the Neverwinter River. And that means we are far away from Baldur's Gate. Too far to bother traveling by foot."

"Grrreat," Vissenvaib expressed her disapproval.

"So, we follow the river to Neverwinter and get to the port?," asked Branwen.

Viconia didn't have to answer. Vissenvaib hit her head against the wall, repeatedly, murmuring in Rashemi:

"Why, oh why did I run to that cursed shop? Bladg! Sûkin! Shoot me!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 **How DO we even get there?**

Having left Thundertree and the woods, Vissenvaib and her party spotted the river  
and prepared themselves for a bath.

Only Viconia hesitated. "I'm intoxicated; I might drown," she explained.

"Just sit on the edge and lave yourself," suggested the mage, "I'll be around."

"And what? Will you yell at the current, «Bad! Bad water!,» until it spews me back?"

Ajantia chuckled, "I can swim, and I'm not delayed."

"Oh? Why, though? You used to keep your distance when you joined us, and now…," her pitch gradually increased, "you _talk_ to me? Directly to my _face_?"

Ajantia gave her a childlike rebellious look.

"'Cause you're our battle healer, Vicûnyoo," Vissenvaib used a Rashemi grammatical rule (one from many) for constructing a diminutive noun. "It's in their interest, and mine,  
and others'…"

"Mm, the dependance, right. Nah, I'll wait until I feel more in control over my own body; then I'll wash myself." ***

After the warm bath, Kagain cooked the hares and the wolf. Our adventurers shared  
the honey with each other and consumed the freshly cooked meat. They still had bear legs left, which they decided to save for the following day.

They slept by a smaller campfire, which poured dense smoke from fresh branches. ***

Vissenvaib was the first one to wake up.

She opened her book – a gift from Imoen back when they both lived in Candlekeep.  
It contained guides for meditation and casting spells. First five pages were filled with big, clumsy handwriting; the next ten pages were crammed with tiny letters, written  
with a support of a straightedge, with almost no space between the lines. After Gorion's death, Vissenvaib flipped the spellbook, front cover on her lap, and started her notes all over, allowing herself to write naturally.

Now, on a ground far away from the places she knew, she decided to revise her knowledge on spellcraft. ***

 _=MAGICKE=_

 _There are six elemental planes, but to make things easier, we'll assume there are ten. Assign one hand-finger to one "plane"._

 _WATER = right index f._

 _AIR = right myddle f._

 _FIRE = right ring f._

 _SOILE (actually earth) = right pinky_

 _BODY = left index f._

 _MINDE = left myddle f._

 _SOUL = left ring f._

 _CHAOS = left pinky_

 _THE GOOD = right thumb_

 _THE EVIL = left thumb_

 _Combine the fingers to "produce" another element, even if it does not work like that  
in reality. _

_ICE = Water and Air_

 _ACID = Water and Fire_

 _MUD = Water and Soile_

 _LIGHTNING = Air and Fire_

 _SMOKE = Air and Soile_

 _LAVA = Fire and Soile_

 _Your thumbs shall determine whether your spell is a blessing (The Good) or a curse  
(The Evil); whether it Removes a curse or Inflicts it. _

_=MEDITATION=_

 _Sit on the floor or an even ground. Relax your legs, don't worry about creeps. Rest your hands on your thighs. There shoulde be no effort, no muscle tensed. Close your eyes. Try not to sleep. By Ilmater, don't you sleep._

 _You know how cats purr when thei breathe? Imagine you're purring. Imagine that your throte is vibrating with a peacefull purr. When you're done, extend the vibrations to your chest. When you thinck you're done with the chest purring = nay, you're wrong, keep  
the chest purrs going. Don't imagine the purrs in your head, it feels immature. Nay, keep those Chest Purrs. If you're feeling annoyed, then it's a definite sign that you need  
to maintain the Chest Purrs for even longer. You're not supposed to be annoyed. Accept  
the Chest Purrs. Be the Chest Purrs. _

_Now, imagine an image of water filling you inside your chest, trembling with the Purrs. This is your source of the Water Magicke._

 _Now, the water inside you boils and rises in vapour. Imagine an image of steam pressing gently, vibrating with the Purrs. This is your source of the Air Magicke._

 _Now, the air fuels a blaze inside you. Imagine an image of a flame inside your chest, flickering with the Purrs. This is your source of the Fire Magicke._

 _Now, the flames die oute, and ashes fall to the bottom on your chest. Imagine an image of dust in you, shaking with the Purrs. This is your source of the Soile Magicke._

 _Go back to the Chest Purrs with no images._

 _Now, extend the inner Purrs in your imagination to your entire body. Don't thinck  
about a particular part of your body, but rather accept the Body Purrs. You need to imagine them for roughly the same lengthe of time you imagined the Chest Purrs first. This is your source of the Body, the Minde, and the Soul Magicke. Your thought, your intention will determine where your spell strikes. _

_Now, cease the Purrs inside you, and imagine that the world around you is purring. Sense it on your skin, heare it with your ears. This is your source of the Chaos Magicke. This is the raw, pure energy; your thought will give it a shape and a purpose._

 _Open your eyes. You're redy._

 _=SPELLS=_

 _BURNING HANDS = Extend the Fire and the Body fingers._

 _COLOUR SPRAY = Extend the Minde and the Evil fingers; thinck of reynbowes._

 _IDENTIFY = Extend the Minde and the Good fingers; press them ageinst your temples._

 _MAGICKE MISSILE = Extend the Chaos and the Body fingers._

 _SHIELD = Extend the Body and the Good fingers; cross them in front of you._

 _SHOCKING GRASP = Extend the Air, the Fire, and the Body fingers; touch the target._

 _SLEEP = Extend the Minde and the Evil fingers; draw a curve in the air._

 _ACID ARROW invented by some important fellow = Extend the Water, the Fire,  
and the Body fingers; thinck of arrows. _

_HOLD PERSON = Extend the Body and the Evil fingers; throw them in front of you  
in a line. _

_FLAME ARROW = Extend the Fire and the Body fingers; thinck of arrows._

 _=TO MASTRE=_

 _BLINDENESS = Even when I thinck about eyes, my attempts either fail or result  
in the Hold Person spell. _

_SCORCHER = My attempts result in the Burning Hands spell._

 _KNOCK = I need to study what locks look like inside. Imoen has showed me only two broken locks, which is not sufficient for me._

 _DISPEL MAGICKE = My attempts either fail or result in a random curse._

 _SLOW = My attempts result in a target getting showered with snailes._

 _DIMENSION DOOR = My attempts result in a conjuration of a random door. ***_

Crinkling of leather caught her attention; first turned her ears, eyes followed.

Imoen rubbed her eyelids and scratched away the half-solid, half-liquid dirt. One glance at her friend and she started smiling.

"How was your night, Visska?"

"Much better than the previous one. Yours?"

"So-so. I dreamt that ponies were riding giant dragonflies."

"Whoa. I would love to have a dream like that," Vissenvaib looked at her arcanabula again, caressed its paper, and gently closed it. Her irides set like the Sun, her eyebrows lowered. Imoen noticed she was tapping on the cover with her fingertip. Rhythmic, subconscious tic neither helped the mage nor hindered her thinking.

"Imû… I've been praying to Deneir, Azuth, Corellon, Labelas, and Curna… Mystra  
the Mystery, and Mystra the Midnight… I don't know who to pray to anymore. My magic  
is not improving. When I was younger, I just _knew_ the cantrips. I didn't have to learn them,  
I just cast them on command. And Gorion's teachings gave me a general idea of what I was supposed to do to achieve a specific result. Now?… I try to cast a new spell, but I get another one or nothing at all. Or some stupid sparkles. And I don't understand what I'm doing wrong, because I _swear_ I'm still following Gorion's tips. Do I search for another school and pretend I'm new at this? Do I abandon dweomercraft? Tchart," she exhaled in Rashemi at the end.

"Mmm… You could have talked to Dynaheir when we had a chance."

"Pff, at that time, I simply thought that my progress was slow due to stress."

"Maybe ask Branwen or Viconia for advice. I mean, obviously they don't cast spells,  
but they keep in touch with deities."

Vissenvaib narrowed her lips, considering Imoen's suggestion. ***

Our wayfarers were eating breakfast, basked in orange sunlight.

Vissenvaib straightened her back, "Bran, may I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"How do you pray to Tempus?"

"I recite the prayers I was taught back in Seawolf."

"Hm. Maybe _that's_ my issue."

"Huh?"

"My magic refuses to improve despite my practices. Maybe I'm supposed to use stock prayers to appease the magic-holding deities. 'Til now, I've been just speaking my mind, addressing my thoughts to them."

"Actually, that's exactly what I do, and Shar listens to me," commented Viconia.

"Oh. Then… Say, how did you use to pray to Llolth?"

"I used both fixed prayers and my own words. I don't want to elaborate on that."

"Sure thing. Huuuh… Maybe I'm messing up my _sentences_ , then? That's been  
my problem since… always. Gorion made me aware of that."

Bran pressed her index finger in its whole length against a cheek, under her eye, "Well, perhaps you could tell us what exactly you say when you pray. Or give us a general idea."

"Also, if I may add something," spoke Ajantia.

"I'm listening."

"You need to remember each deity has their own personality and level of tolerance. That's why one shouldn't pray the same way to all of them. You need to study their history  
of conflicts to understand them better."

Kagain faked a cough.

"Yes, I recognize my hypocrisy, regarding ereyesterday. People err and learn."

"Heck, you're right," the half-elf rested her forearms on her lap, "Folks, before we sail, we need to find a bookstore in Neverwinter."

"Books on religions become outdated very quickly," said Kagain, "Consulting priests will be better, for divine mythoi never stop; they develop as we speak."

"Rrright. It would be splendid if gods simply chilled for a year or two. I never liked talking to presbyters."

"What about us?," asked Branwen.

"You're _battle_ clerics. You're practical. That's different."

"I disagree with you. Temple priests are just as practical as us."

"Except they're greedy."

"Excuse me? They need money to eat and maintain temples."

"Can't their gods enchant the shrines with indestructibility? Especially since it's in their interest to keep worshippers around. Also, the presbyters are demanding more and more money for resurrections. If that's not an act of greed – or racial prejudice, regarding Vicky  
– what is it?"

No one answered for a moment. There were only gazes. Vissenvaib quickly analyzed their faces one by one. She detected sweat on her palms.

Finally, Viconia spoke, "You question authorities. That's why they're not answering you."

She opened her mouth, stricken with terror.

Imoen stood up with her knees bent and sat closer to Vissenvaib. The mage did nothing.

The rogue spoke gently, "Vissie. Vissenin. It's alright."

The mage whined.

"Visska."

She repeated the sob.

"Hey. We'll find a library, you'll read a bit, and you'll learn how to pray. It'll be fine."

"Tosh Viki skazala…"

"Viconia simply spoke her mind."

The Ilythiiri squinted.

"No, she… She applied her own experience… She may be right…"

The cleric of Shar turned her head away from the women. Her white hair with violet highlights slipped from her ear and covered her cheek.

Imoen continued, "It's not too late for you to improve your prayers."

The half-elf whimpered.

"How about you play for the gods now? Show them that you're willing to change."

Vissenvaib pressed her lips again. She contemplated for a while. She opened her bag  
and picked up the drum. She pondered again, with her right hand above the membrane.

She began: **bam popo bam, pabam popo bam prrapabam popo bam, pabam pata pa po bam**.

She sang loud and clear, and she sang as follows:

" _O, Azuth, Valshébnikov Rûko_

 _Ostañ zé mno, ostañ zé mno_

 _Ĭa khachĭela napravitch své déla_

 _I pochĭeshitch Tébé"_

«O, Azuth, the Hand of Sorcerers

Stay with me, stay with me

I would like to right my [wrong]doings

And to cheer You up»

«I will learn about Your expectations

Stay with me, stay with me

I will stop upsetting You

And I'll cheer You up»

«I'm just a simple-minded mage

Stay with me, stay with me

I need more time than others

To cheer You up»

«I will follow Your guidance

Stay with me, stay with me

I will consult Your priests

And I'll cheer You up»

«So please don't abandon me

Stay with me, stay with me

Grant me one more chance

And I'll cheer You up»

Meanwhile, Imoen went back where she slept and quietly translated what Vissenvaib sang to the rest of the party. Ajantia nodded in approval. Branwen stared in awe. Viconia locked her eyes on the horizon.

Kagain shrugged, "I _guess_ she's doing fine with her prayers. Then again, she has yet  
to tell us how she prayed prior to today."

Vissenvaib switched to singing vowels and semivowels, smoothly changing notes. She even closed her eyes for a brief moment, giving an impression of falling into trance. One thing was certain: she felt better. ***

The adventurers spent whole morning, midday, and a half of the afternoon marching through the plains next to the Neverwinter River. They encountered a fox, which fled swiftly. They also saw a lynx licking its paw. Finally, they reached the city-state of Neverwinter  
– or rather its tall walls. Blue banners, with a sky-blue eye shedding three tears, never rested on the walls, waving with the wind which blew at average speed.

But the city didn't seem to be inviting its new guests. It was quiet. No sounds of wooden crates, fabrics, ships; no merchants bargaining, no civilians gossipping. Only dogs barking, especially the militia dogs guarding the entrance.

And muffled screams.

Screams in agony, laments, and haunting howling.

"Oh, dear," Vissenvaib stood still, feeling some sort of weight in her heart.

Ajantia approached the gate, grabbed their sword by its ricasso and knocked loudly  
with the pommel.

A guard moved aside a wooden plank to take a look. "No entry," they quickly said  
in Common.

"How about the port? The docks?"

" **No** , entry!"

"Why?"

"By Lord Nasher's command, no entry granted for foreigners."

"What happened, though?"

"Please! We're having enough problems now!"

Ajantia was stunned by the guard's refusal to explain the situation. They turned around and shrugged, looking at the companions.

"DeVir, can you try?," asked Vissenvaib.

"Certainly," Viconia knew from previous conversations that it is better not to argue  
with the mage because they would have wasted more time otherwise, "Xun izil udos quarth, rivvil."

"Uh… Blast it… Pyekeshaki… iaa," stuttered the guard and closed the rectangular hole.

"Did they answer in _Espruar_?," grumbled the dark elf.

Vissenvaib quickly answered, "They said, «forty days,» as in, an isolation of the sick. They're… They're having a plague."

The party looked at the Rashemi half-elf. The message dawned on them like a heavy blanket.

"Where do we go, then?," asked Branwen.

"Port Llast is the closest settlement from here," said Imoen, "South from Neverwinter."

"Then, we should pray for the city and leave."

Branwen, Ajantia, and Vissenvaib kneeled; Kagain entwined his hands and pressed them against his forehead; Viconia and Imoen remained as they stood, listening to suspicious rustling behind the gate…

And then!

The gate broke apart, its long pieces hitting the paladin and the human cleric before they could react. The mage yelled in high pitch, standing up in panic and stepping back. Naturally, her scream shook her comrades.

But who could have done that with a massive, locked gate? Why, a half-giant,  
for example. They had snow white skin and they were wearing rags with three thin, vertical rectangles sewed on the top. The guard who talked to the wayfarers just a minute ago  
was lying on the cobblestone road, waving their legs and struggling to breathe. So were other guards and dogs in the background, as Kagain quickly noticed.

"Is it clear, buddy?," asked another person in similar rags.

"Not quite. There are six strays here."

"No follower of Shar is a stray," Viconia took offence, detaching her mace from the belt.

"Oi, target the humans; this scum is mine," exclaimed Kagain.

Vissenvaib reacted after staring at the half-giant and pushed the broken plank away  
from Branwen's helmet. "Shoot! Bran, how're you feeling? Can you…?"

"I feel dizzy."

"Aha, then, move on four limbs, just get away from here! Ajax!"

Ajantia stood up on their own, holding the plank that hit them. "At last, Helm blesses us with some action."

Kagain threw himself forward, spinning slightly, and aiming with his battle axe  
at half-giant's left leg. They tried to stop him with a pound, but their fist hit the dwarf's shield.

At the same time, more people, mostly men, rampaged through the broken gate. Viconia chose one of them; she murmured, "Oloth wun solen," extended her index finger while still gripping the mace, and stroke her target with blindness. Pushing them aside, she walked towards another fugitive and hit them twice: in their forearm, and their temple. They fell  
to the ground.

"Who are you even!?," yelled Vissenvaib, struggling to open a pouch.

"We are free! That's what we are!"

Imoen drew two daggers, "They're prisoners, Vissenin! That sign on their chests represents dungeon bars!"

"Oh," the mage glanced at them, then at the pouch. Finally, she got it opened  
and grabbed sulfur dust, "I hope you're not political prisoners, then."

"You're overthinking!"

"Aye!," the half-elf threw sulfur and set it ablaze with her right ring finger.  
The aggressors stepped aside, but two of them caught fire.

"Keep your fire spells for the giant!," yelled Ajantia, beating people left and right  
with the plank, which they held in the middle and span as they pleased.

Kagain kept on distracting and provoking the half-giant.

Vissenvaib cast Magic Missile at one of the prisoners, constantly running backwards  
to keep her distance. "Aren't they resistant to fire, though?"

Ajantia continued, "Frost giants!? They melt! Kinda."

The rogue cut five people, kicked a wounded fugitive's chest and elbowed other one's stomach. Another enemy tried to grab her left wrist; they did, but Imoen – without looking – gracefully flipped her weapon blade down, and moved her hand behind her in a curve, stabbing them. She freed her wrist and focused on the rest of the prisoners.

One attacker was clever enough to steal a guard's sword. That was when Ajantia threw the plank, aiming at prisoners' knees. Three men fell down.

"For Helm!," they yelled, having drawn their weapon.

"Oww," replied one of the aggressors, examining their knee.

Viconia bashed one foe with her shield, blinded another, and hit two people, using both  
the mace and the shield.

Someone yelled, "Get the wizard! Get the witch before she finds her ingredients!"

Ajantia was fighting the fugitive who had the stolen sword. Parrying with ease, blocking with the blade and guard, the paladin made the prisoner expose themselves and wounded their side. The person collapsed.

Kagain kept tiring the half-giant.

Vissenvaib fired two Acid Arrows at two foes. She burned the third one. She fled. She opened another pouch, loaded her slingshot, span the weapon and ejected a stone bullet… which hit Ajantia in the back.

She threw her arms, "For _cat's_ sake!"

"V!," yelled Kagain, "You're gonna make your way here or not!?"

"Pshétch! There's too many of them!"

He rolled his eyes, "DeVir! Cast Hold Person!"

"I haven't prepared myself for that!"

"I'll do it!," Vissenvaib extended left thumb and left index finger.

Branwen, sitting safely despite the brawl, folded her hands and prayed inaudibly.

A prisoner and the half-giant froze in place; a blue glisten suggested that it was the cleric who cursed the frost giant, while the human fugitive shined in violet.

Kagain sighed, "By Dugmaren, V!"

"Ack! I'm sorry!"

"Whatever! Get in here, quick!"

A wounded prisoner replied, "Don't let her get there!"

But Ajantia threw the sword (the stolen one) at one attacker and their shield at another one. Those who intended to stop the mage had to deal with the paladin. Their left hand resting on the pommel, their eyes seeing clearly despite sweat, their jaw broad and shaping their face into a square, their veins peaking beneath the skin.

Those who even _thought_ about stopping the mage had to face the paladin.

Meanwhile, Vissenvaib galloped clumsily and prepared her fingers for Flame Arrow. She successfully cast it on the frost giant.

Imoen knocked out one more prisoner and sheathed one dagger to hold a bow. She had already trained firing arrows while holding one dagger. If she ever had to write a vita  
or résumé, she would have put "flexibility" as one of her traits. Not only was she physically flexible, but she could also come up with a solution to current challenges effortlessly; moreover, she could switch from a ranged weapon to close combat within milliseconds,  
and the other way round as well.

The fugitives, busy fighting the dwarf, the paladin, and the Ilythiiri, became shooting range prompts.

The curse wore out, and the half-giant started running, hoping they would reach  
the river. But Kagain remained watchful, as he sank his axe in the foe's back. The magic-induced fire went out, but the half-giant was already severely wounded. On their knees, their reflexes weakened. The dwarf ran upwards on their back and delivered a fatal hit to their neck. And another one for good measure.

The main threat was slain, but there were five more fugitives with stolen weaponry  
 _and_ armour. Vissenvaib burned one of them without a thought.

Ajantia flipped their sword, held it by its ricasso again and charged. Initially amused, their target quickly realized what was happening: Ajantia used their half-swording skills  
to inflict smashing injuries with the pommel.

Viconia had a different strategy. She tossed her shield and unsheathed a long, thin dagger – velve whol karliik, "a dagger for head," meant for stabbing all those weak spots which plate armour didn't cover. She still kept her mace in her right hand. The prisoners stared  
at the cleric of Shar; no one wanted to fight her.

Kagain just said, "V! Theur oth!"

Vissenvaib blinked twice in shock. "Are you sure you said what you meant to say?"

"Avavaen."

"Alright," the mage pressed left index finger against right thumb, and right index finger against left thumb. She positioned the rectangle in front of her chest and spoke, "Nesirtye."

Of course, she conjured a wooden door. Kagain smirked, grabbed it and smashed it  
on a prisoner's head. The impact knocked them unconscious, despite a helmet they were wearing. The remaining two enemies couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.

And then…

The sound of horseshoes hitting the cobblestone, click-clacking from the city.

One fugitive doffed a breastplate and turned a sword using both hands. Our warriors, who have just wounded and killed dozens of people, as they did in previous months, closed their eyes; when they opened them again, the prisoner lied on the soil.

The last man dropped the stolen weapon and turned around, watching as an armoured figure was riding a horse.

A knight in full plate armour, with a visored bascinet, an aventail, short spikes decorating their pauldrons, and the emblem of Neverwinter engraved on their chest. They had two swords sheathed on each side. They stopped their horse and looked down on the survivor.

"Do you surrender to the militia?," they meant the aid of ten guards that was following them through a district.

"I do."

"Has anyone escaped?"

"No. They all lie here."

"You shall face justice once more," they descended from the horse and approached  
the group of six strangers, "I apologize for our inexcusable lack of professionalism. These prisoners…," they sighed.

"Well, I mean," started Vissenvaib, "a guard managed to tell us about the quarantine, so… It's natural they wanted to flee instead of getting infected. Determination makes  
the impossible possible."

The knight raised their head slightly; shadows shifted on the helmet's navy-blue surface, which gave the half-elf an impression that _the helmet's "facial" expression has changed_.

"Who are you exactly?"

"Travelers. We need a boat to get back to Baldur's Gate."

"Oh… Do you have to sail there immediately? If yes, then you need to go to Port Llast."

"And… if not?"

"You could do Lord Nasher and the city an honourable favour."

Kagain inhaled loudly and interrupted the knight, "Actually… We need to do a favour  
to Baldur's Gate. You see, these guys from Iron Throne pose a threat to…"

He stopped because the knight opened their visor. Frowning eyebrows and displeased mouth pierced him like needles.

"The Iron Throne? Wasn't it disbanded in the sixty-ninth Dalereckoning? What are you talking about, dwarven fighter?"

Kagain's jaw dropped. Vissenvaib returned to the conversation, "Look, a merchant scammed us, one of his potions warped us into the Neverwinter Woods, we didn't even realize it wasn't the sixty-eighth anymore. Which is… wow. What year is it, then?"

The knight blinked for a longer while, processing the sentences the mage has spoken. "The seventy-second. The twenty-seventh day of Kythorn, thirteen-seventy-two."

"Holy… Oh, dear, oh no… Wai', how did the Iron Throne disband?"

"It just vanished. No one knows. "

"Huh. That could be temporary. But then… Folks, what do we do?"

Branwen went closer to the group, carefully and without confidence. "What would you like to do?"

"Help them?"

"Of course," said Viconia.

The knight spoke, "If you enter, we won't let you out until the pyekeshaki ends."

"Thank you, I realized that. Vicky, you wanna leave?"

"…No."

"But… you're against me helping them."

"That's different."

"Different from what?"

"From fighting by your side," replied the Ilythiiri, giving her a faint smile.

"Technically, I was… like, two yards away from you…"

Viconia facepalmed gently, "Right. How about you, Imoen?"

"I don't mind helping them. Especially since we don't have to go back to Baldur's Gate anymore. Kagain?"

"Mmrpff."

Vissenvaib sighed, "I think I know what he needs: ale. And a monetary reward  
for slaughtering all these fugitives."

"Actually, I want you to summon one more door so I can fix the gate."

"Ah. Sure. And after that?"

"Food. Which we have to pay for. So, yeah, money."

"Yup. Bran?"

"Whether we go or stay, I won't mind."

"Uh-huh, and Ajax? You still want the ship or you're feeling Helm calling you  
for duty?"

Ajantia's smile was broader and brighter than Viconia's. "…I grow weary."

Kagain chuckled, "We all do, pal."


End file.
